Donald Trump recently received a clean bill of health from his doctor. The medical report may have lacked specifics, but the physician made up for it with typical Trumpian bombast when he tweeted, “If elected, Mr. Trump, I can state unequivocally, will be the healthiest individual ever elected to the presidency.”
One wonders what Theodore Roosevelt, a legendary health nut, would say about this, but since Teddy and all but five people elected to the presidency are dead, there is not likely to be much debate.
That night, after reading his doctor’s report, I had a dream about how it might play out if I was Donald Trump’s doctor. In the dream I was briefing him on the results of his physical and medical tests. I started with his bloodwork.
“Well, Mr. Trump, all your lab results are back.”
“How was my glucose?”
“It was 90, sir. That’s very good.”
“Very good? That’s not very good - that’s PERFECT. No one has ever had a better glucose than me. I have the best glucose ever.”
“Yes, sir. Now moving on to your physical exam.”
“My physical was great, right? Women all tell me I have a great body.”
“Your physical was pretty much normal, sir, but I should mention two things I noticed - your oral cavity and your hair. First, you have an enlarged oral cavity. It is one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”
He corrected me.
“One of the biggest? I’m sure my oral cavity is the BIGGEST you’ve ever seen. By the way, what is an oral cavity? ”
“In layman’s terms, your mouth. Now, Mr. Trump, about your hair.”
Trump’s eyes widen. “What about my hair? IT’s REAL, you know.” He pulls it to make sure I know.
“Oh, it’s real alright. It’s just that we’re not sure what it’s made of. I sent a strand of your hair to the lab and the color and texture are unlike anything the lab has ever come across. So we sent a sample to Washington. The closest they can come to identifying the composition of your hair is that it resembles some of the organic materials detected from the Galileo probe of Jupiter. The scientists think those materials might have been the result of an asteroid collision.”
Trump seemed proud to hear it and made a lame joke.
“Women always tell me my hair is out of this world. Now what about my CT scan?”
“As you know sir, we had a little trouble getting you into the CT scanner because your head was so swollen. We don’t come across that problem often. Anyway, when we finally got your head in, we found your brain is normal except for some unusual changes in the frontotemporal area.”
Perplexed, Trump asked, “What does that mean?
“That’s just the area of the brain responsible for appropriate behavior, social interaction, and judgment. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.” At that moment, Trump was too busy ogling a nurse who walked by to hear what I was saying. When I regained his attention he asked, “All right. What about the X-rays of my stomach and intestines?”
“Very interesting. sir. Your upper intestines are filled with gas. You might be pleased to know it’s the most gas I have ever seen. You are a veritable gasbag”.
My joke fell flat as he stared at me coldly and asked,
“What about my lower intestines?
”Lots of poop, sir. Plenty of poop.”
His visage hardened.
“Okay, I’m done, here. Anything else, DOCTOR?”
I got the impression I was not going to be Surgeon General if he was elected president.
“No sir. Everything else checks out just fine. I’m not sure you would be the healthiest individual ever elected president because I have never examined anyone else who was elected president, but you look fine to me.”
“Send me your bill.” he said curtly. “So what’s my prognosis?”
“Well, Mr. Trump, I don’t see any reason you can’t live to 100.”
“100? Listen, you quack, I plan on living to at least 120!” He paused for a moment, thought about what he had just said and then added,
“There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that, Mr. Trump?’”
“Well, when I become president, the Constitution says I can only serve eight years. If I’m going to live to be 120, I’m going to have to change that law, so I can be president for at least twenty-five years.“
I looked at him and told him I had to excuse myself.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Trump, I have to leave and get a sedative.”
“What are you talking about, Doc? I don’t need a sedative!”
“No. But I do.”
Dream over, I awoke in a cold sweat.
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